


Flowers know your name

by learielle



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Female Lavellan - Freeform, Fluff, Language of Flowers, Modern AU, Modern Era, Romance, Solas - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-13 16:45:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9132745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/learielle/pseuds/learielle
Summary: A modern AU where Lavellan works at a flower shop. On a particularly slow day, a certain elf pays a visit and captivates her attention. Unsure of how else to approach him, she tries to communicate with him using the cryptic language of flowers.(aka awkward Lavellan not knowing how to confess. Solas knows what she's trying to do though.)





	1. A name to the stranger

Working at a flower shop was not as dull as one made it out to be. Nor was it as interesting as the previous statement implied. She’d had customers come in various stages of distress (wine-stained shirts, scraped-up knees, bruised eyes, and, on one particularly memorable occasion, singed hair – all in need of flowers) but she’d also had days when business was slow.

She was on the brink of dozing off when he first walked into the shop.

Ellana did not have a lot of time to think. The chime of the bell sent her bolting upright in her seat in search of the cause. It had been a slow couple of weeks – or at least during the hours of her shift, anyway. She bit the inside of her cheek in a feeble attempt to keep herself awake.

The man standing by the entrance was Elven, like her, and he was glancing around the shop with a faint frown on his face. His brows were drawn together as he observed the displays of fresh flowers around him.

Ellana rose from her chair. For some reason, her heart was pounding at her throat. She stared at him for a few seconds too long, her mind fumbling for words. It took her a few tries before she managed to coax the words out of her mouth.

“Can… can I help you?” she asked. Her voice trembled.

He turned his attention to her, startled; he hadn’t noticed her presence. Blindly, Ellana groped for the potted fern on the counter beside her. Stupid. What was she going to do with it? The man was approaching the counter now, and her hands tightened around the pot as her heart pounded even faster.

He had the most striking eyes.

She saw him take her in, and saw the hint of an expression she couldn’t name cross his face when he noticed her vallaslin. He wasn’t Dalish. But then he broke into a smile, and Ellana loosened her grip on the pot. She felt the fern leaves tickling her chin.

“A bouquet of pear blossoms and peonies, please.”

It took her awhile to get her mind to work. Pear blossoms. Peonies. She set the pot down and cringed internally. She was turning into a semi-incoherent mess because of _this_?

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen attractive men before, though this stranger was not… conventionally attractive. But it didn’t matter, because her brain was turning into a useless mush pile and she needed to snap out of it before she lost the customer.

With practiced hands, she assembled the bouquet and wrapped it up in the frilly paper she didn’t like using. Just because. She wondered who the bouquet was for. Probably a lover, if her previous luck with crushes provided any indication.

No. This was not a crush. She didn’t even now the man.

Ellana fumbled with the ribbon for far too long, because she felt the man’s gaze fixated on her hands. “I can do that,” he said. He reached for the bow, and Ellana shied away. His voice was calming and quiet.

She really liked it.

(And inside her head, all the logical parts of her brain – or what was still functioning, anyway – let out a collective groan of exasperation)

He finished tying the bow with steady hands, and Ellana immediately noticed the calluses on the side of his fingers. She knew those kinds of calluses. He was either a writer or an artist, or even a musician. That was probably as much as she would get to know about him. Creators, she could be so shallow sometimes. Looks didn’t make an entire person. But hey, she probably wouldn’t see him again anyway, so it didn’t matter.

It was when he was about to leave that she called out to him.

“Wait!” she blurted.

He turned around, bouquet in hand, an expression of puzzlement on his face. “Yes?”

Screw it. No one paid attention to flower symbolism anyway. She was feeling adventurous, and it was too late to back down now. She plucked sprig of purple heather from one of the displays and held it out to him. “H-here,” she managed. The nervousness made her palms sweaty and her tongue feel like sandpaper in her mouth. She fought the urge to scrunch up her eyes and turn her head away, and instead looked at him, steadying her gaze as best as she could.

“A gift?” He inclined his head in confusion.

Ellana nodded, silent. Was she drunk? Because she wouldn’t be doing this if she was sober. When was the last time she ingested alcohol? Three weeks ago? Her heart was pounding in her chest in response to her stupidity. What in the world was she even _thinking_ —

“ _Ma serannas_.” He accepted the sprig with his free hand, held it between his forefinger and thumb. A smile played at his lips as he twirled it between his fingers.

Elvhen. Somehow his usage of it didn’t surprise her.

“You’re welcome,” she replied. She watched as he tucked the flower into the front pocket of his shirt. The smile didn’t seem to leave his face as he turned and exited the shop.

Ellana stood, slack-jawed and glassy-eyed, for a while. She didn’t know what surprised her more – the fact that she had acted like an idiot, or the fact that she had gotten away with it. A fierce rush of heat flooded her cheeks, and she squeezed her eyes shut in mortification.

At the very least, there had been no one around to witness what just happened.

She half-hoped she didn’t have to see that stranger again.

…

 

Sometimes, Ellana was not a very good speaker, but she picked up languages fast. Elvhen came to her quite a bit easier than it did to her friends back home. Her Orlesian wasn’t quite there yet, but she could understand it better than she could articulate, and that served her just fine. Sign language was a side interest that had developed into relative fluency. The language of flowers was one she learned working in the shop, and so far, it was one that didn’t disappoint. Most people didn’t pay much attention to it beyond a few of the more popular flowers. Ellana liked the flowers no one really thought about.

The next time she saw the stranger, it was almost two months later.

Miraculously, she didn’t cringe.

He strode in, swept a glance around the shop, and stopped when he caught site of her. This time, she was standing, and she had to stop herself before she grabbed the fern pot for coverage again. The stranger smiled at her. “Hello again.”

“ _Andaran atish’an_.” Ellana felt her lips shape the words she hadn’t spoken since she left home. Non-Dalish usually didn’t even speak a word of Elvhen, but this stranger was something else. She fought the oncoming blush that threatened to turn her face beet red. At least she wasn’t a nervous wreck. Yet.

The man looked older, but by how much, she couldn’t tell. Today his attire was a little more casual, as opposed to the dress shirt he had on the last time. He seemed to relax at the sound of the Elvhen greeting, and his smile turned just a little wistful. 

“How may I help you?” she asked. It was a wonder her voice didn’t shake.

“Tulips and lilies of the valley, if you please.”

This time, he stopped her from tying the ribbon. “It’s quite all right,” he said. “They’re not meant to be gifts.”

Oh. It was then that she noticed a splotch of paint on his wrist. So he was a painter, then. Or was he? She supposed she would never know.

Again, before he left, Ellana took a flower from one of the nearby displays and offered it to him.

This time, it was an orchid.

He looked at her strangely. “Are you in the habit of offering lone flowers as gifts to your customers?”

_Only to you, because I’m an idiot._

(Her brain cells agreed wholeheartedly.)

She didn’t reply him, though, because she didn’t know how to. Instead, she only smiled, or tried to, at the very least. He took the orchid from her and placed it atop the bouquet of tulips and lilies of the valley with care. “ _Ma serannas_ ,” he said again. His smile was genuine, and it added an impish sparkle to his eyes.

On cue, her heart thumped in her chest, erratic and eager.

“ _Dareth shiral_.” The words left her in a breathy rush of air.

The man inclined his head in acknowledgement, and then he left.

…

 

The third time the stranger came into the shop, Ellana was less flustered. Like the first time, he was the only customer in the shop. Like the second time, Ellana did not tie the ribbon.

When Ellana gave him the flower, she cupped it between her hands. A gardenia.

And then he laughed.

First, it was a broad smile, and then the smile turned into laughter. The sound filled the entire shop, and coaxed a fit of nervous giggles out of her. She felt herself start to blush, and ducked her head to hide it—

He was looking at her, and the gleam of amusement and wonder in his eyes made it increasingly harder to look away. His smile was wide and genuine and unguarded. Ellana relaxed her tensed-up shoulders, and returned his smile a little sheepishly.

Just then, he opened his mouth. He looked like he was about to say something, but then thought better of it and changed his mind.

Instead, he said, “Thank you for your gifts.”

 _It was only two flowers_ , she thought.

He took the gardenia from her cupped hands and brought it up to his nose, inhaling its sweet scent. “Three now.”

Damn. She’d said that out loud.

She didn’t think it was possible, but his smile grew wider. This time, he turned around and waved before he left.

…

 

It became sort of a game of anticipation.

Once, he came on particularly a busy day. He’d ask for flowers, and Ellana would deliver. Sometimes he would hurry by, not entering, but stopping to give her a nod, a smile – something. She still didn’t know his name, and for now, was content to refer to him simply as “the stranger.” She didn’t lose all capability of forming coherent thought around him anymore, but the rhythmic pounding of her heart never failed to appear whenever he was near.

One thing she did notice though, was that the intervals between his visits were becoming shorter. So far, she’d given him three other flowers.

A carnation, an acacia, and finally, a thornless rose.

Her gifts were growing bolder, but she doubt he noticed. Which was good. If not, she’d come off as a creep. But each time he visited, his smile became more knowing, more mischievous, that she couldn’t help but wonder. Maybe he knew, after all.

The thought alone was enough to make her cringe.

But she wouldn’t be working here anymore come next month.

That was why, when he showed up again, Ellana spoke before he even had the chance to. “I won’t be here after next week,” she blurted.

Yet again, the shop was empty, and words couldn’t express how grateful she was. The blush on her cheeks felt like a splash of hot water. She bit down on her lower lip and tried not to look away.

The stranger’s eyes widened in surprise. He gaped at her for a few moments, and the silence encapsulating them both thickened with… what? Anticipation? Disappointment? Embarrassment? At this point, she couldn’t tell.

“I…” The stranger stumbled for words. He was fiddling with something in his hand. “Will you still be in the area?”

“Yeah,” she replied in a rush. “It’s just – I’m starting college soon and this was just supposed to be a part time job… I just moved here and…” She trailed off, cringing. She was rambling. “I-I’ll still be in the area. Just… not here.”

She hoped that made sense.

The stranger nodded slowly. “Good.” His voice was soft. “I’m not here for flowers today, but—” He took her hands with one of his own, and placed in them a single ambrosia flower, and a cream colored envelope.

Eyes wide, her head snapped up to look at him. Her blush returned with full intensity, and the pounding of her heart created a dull roar in her ears. “The flower—”

“It means what it means.” There was a telltale gleam in his eyes. Mischief, impishness. His mouth quirked upwards into a smirk. He held on to her hands longer than necessary, and for a while Ellana felt like a kid with a huge crush… that was being reciprocated.

“But you don’t even know my name.”

He laughed. “Yes, I suppose I don’t. Still, the flowers were a very nice gift. They’ve brought me joy, and I thought perhaps I should return the favor.” He gave her hands a tentative squeeze, and then he let go. “My name is Solas.”

 _Solas_. A name to the stranger at last. She liked the sound of it.

“Ellana.” Except, with the way she said it, it sounded uncertain, more like a question than a statement. _Ellana?_

“Ellana,” he agreed with a chuckle. The way he said her name made it sound like it was the name of an exquisite flower. But it was just Ellana.

She stood there a little awkwardly, clutching the envelope and the flower. “What’s this?” she asked, motioning to the envelope. The paper was thick and heavy.

“Open it, and you will know.” His answering smile was cryptic. _Solas_ , Ellana reminded herself. _His name is Solas_. He reached for her, and brushed a wayward lock of hair away from her forehead. Without thinking, Ellana caught his hand with her own.

The flash of surprise in his face was gone in an instant, replaced with a small, warm smile. He brushed his thumb across her cheek, stopping just shy of her mouth. “A pleasure to meet you, Ellana.”

Nothing could have stopped her radiant smile from emerging. She touched the back of his hand. “Likewise, Solas.”

She liked saying his name. _Solas_.

But then he was pulling back, and Ellana felt the absence as a cold splash of water on her face. “I am… ah, running late. I apologize, I must go.”

The first flickers of panic overtook her chest. “How will I see you again?” she asked.

But he was already going towards the door. “Open the letter!” he said, and then he left.

However, he did turn back to wave at her. Once. Maybe twice.

…

 

Ellana opened the envelope. It was an invitation to a gallery showing, a solo exhibit, and it would take place next week.

On the reverse side, a carefully penned phone number.

Ellana flipped the invitation over again, and looked at the name of the exhibiting artist. It wasn’t Solas. She squinted at it just to make sure she hadn’t gotten it wrong.

 _Fen’Harel_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Lavellan:  
> Purple heather – admiration  
> Orchid – delicate/refined beauty  
> Gardenia – joy, secret love  
> Carnation(general) – fascination  
> Acacia – hidden love  
> Thornless rose – love at first sight
> 
> From Solas:  
> Ambrosia – love is reciprocated
> 
>  
> 
> Hi! This is the first fanfic I've ever written and I'd love to hear what you think! Do leave a comment :) There's another part to this, and I'd love to know if anyone else is interested in reading it ^^


	2. A stranger no more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan visits a gallery. Lavellan is still Very Awkward.

Ellana would readily admit that, a few hours before, she’d sat in front of her laptop and googled _what do you wear to a gallery exhibition_. Somehow, the internet search for answers had left her more confused than not, and in a fit of nervous frustration, she’d decided to walk the middle line.

And that was how she ended up in front of the Gallery of Halamshiral, dressed in uncomfortable heels and a knee-length dress.

The exterior of the gallery was imposing, and the entrance even more so. In true Orlesian style, everything was gold and shiny. The other guests were arriving, and she breathed a sigh of relief to find out that she hadn’t come overdressed – or underdressed – after all.

She was more than a little flabbergasted. Fen’Harel the artist. A quick search had revealed a lot of information (apparently he was quite well-known), but no pictures of the enigmatic artist himself. A hunch told her that it was Solas.

( _You don’t say_ , her brain cells supplied.)

Well, it had to be him, right? It would explain the splotches of paint she’d seen on his hands, and why would he have given her the invitation otherwise? She… could have called to ask.

Ellana had keyed in the number into her phone already, but something had stopped her from tapping the call icon on the screen. Nervousness, perhaps. Definitely anxiety. She’d wanted to at least text him, but she kept putting it off, and shifts at the flower shop had gotten in the way. When she finally found the courage to even type a _Hi_ , the gallery show was the next day and she’d shied away _again_.

In short, she had no one else to blame for her current state of anxiety.

She was self-conscious and uncomfortable as she walked up the steps to the entrance. She hadn’t worn heels in ages, and her toes were already screaming. Floral arrangements framed the entrance, and she stopped for a moment to stare up at them. Fresh flowers. Apple blossoms and aster, bellflowers and white carnations. Snowdrops and ambrosias.

Ellana wondered who had chosen the flowers.

She almost reached out to pick one from the delicate arrangement, but decided against it. Inhaling deeply, she walked into the reception hall.

Then she sneezed.

_Very good, Ellana. Very good_.

Several heads snapped to look at her, and she ducked behind a pillar for good measure. Ugh. The ladies present were all wearing perfume. Ellana hated the stuff; her nose was starting to itch like crazy, and she slinked into a restroom in a futile effort to stop it from getting any worse.

The reflection that greeted her wasn’t as bad as she thought it was. Her nose was red. That was it. It would go away in a while.

She groped for her phone in her clutch, and stopped just before unlocking it. Should she call him now? What would she say? _Hello I’m Ellana from the flower shop I’m currently stuck in the bathroom because I don’t know where to go and is this actually your exhibit? Are you Fen’Harel …_

Ellana cringed at her own thought process.

But – to be fair, she was rather at a loss. Solas hadn’t given her much to go on other than the invitation, and if he’d given her his number, it was probably for this purpose. She sighed. Why was she scared?

She checked the stalls just to make sure they were empty, and then she dialled.

The dial tones were in synchronization with the thump of her heartbeats.

_Click_. “Hello?”

Her mind blanked.

“Hello?” Solas said again. Then, tentatively, “Ellana?”

That snapped her out of it. “How did you know?” she asked. She felt sheepish, and she made a point to not look at the mirror in front of her. No need to witness her own personal demise by making a fool of herself anyway.

She heard that familiar chuckle, and felt the tension ease a little. “It was a wild guess. Hello again,” he said. She imagined he was still smiling as he spoke, and that somehow made her a lot less nervous. “Are you… at the gallery?”

His question led her to notice that his end of the line was quiet; he wasn’t outside mingling with the people.

“Technically.”

“Technically?”

“I’m hiding,” she announced. “In the bathroom. Are you Fen’Harel?”

Her question was met with silence. “Yes,” he replied at last. His voice was quiet. “I’m sorry I did not clarify. Would you like to meet?”

_Of course I’d like to meet that’s what I came here for_.

“Where are you?” she interjected. “I don’t know my way around this place.” She took an involuntary glance towards the door, hoping no one would walk in. She liked art galleries, but not when they were filled with official-looking people in heady perfumes and trimmed mustaches. She was nervous, and she felt as though she stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Take the elevator up a floor and head left,” he said. “Arlathan Wing. You can’t miss it. It should be still empty at this moment.” There was a pause, like he was deliberating what to say. Ellana waited, a prickling sensation travelling down her back. Anticipation.

“I’ll find you,” he said. His voice was barely a whisper.

A thousand thoughts rushed through her head at once. Was he nervous, too? Or was he regretting inviting her here? Had she overstepped her bounds and this was actually some sort of high-society meeting and she wasn’t supposed to be here?

But then he had been the one to give her the invitation.

So he’d better see it through.

She took a deep breath through her nose and released it through her mouth. “All right,” she replied. “I’ll see you there.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

Then Ellana hung up. She checked her reflection in the mirror, relieved to see that she still looked semi-presentable after all. She was looking a little peaky, but the dark material of her dress against the pale of her skin made her look good. Like she had her life together. Sort of.

_Just because he’s Fen’Harel doesn’t mean he’s actually Fen’Harel_ , Ellana repeated to herself. There was a stubborn scrunch to her nose and a determined set to her jaw. _Not the wolf. Plus, you imitated this. You need to see it through, too_.

She… was nervous. It was so much simpler when he was just _the stranger_. Then he was _Solas_. Ellana didn’t know if she had the courage to make it go beyond that, but she supposed since she was standing here already, she must have.

With a final reminder that _He’s not gonna bite you goddamit_ , Ellana walked out of the restroom to brave the beyond.

…

 

A total of ten minutes later, Ellana was standing in front of a huge archway with the same floral arrangements from the entrance. Bold, stark letters framed with delicate filigree curls were embossed into the metal plaque above.   _ARLATHAN WING_.

Just as Solas had predicted, it was empty.

She could smell the fragrance from the flowers; it was sweet and refreshing and it reminded her of the shop, where she’d first set eyes on him. This part of the gallery looked a little different; it didn’t have the opulence of the other parts she’d seen. It was… unassuming was the word that first came to mind, but it wasn’t the right word.

She stepped in.

No. Unassuming wasn’t the right word at all.

Solas had painted the whole ceiling.

Her eyes went wide with wonder as she took in the rich colors and vivid imagery. Rolling expanses of mountains, endless stretches of night sky in one corner and bright, warm sunlight in another. Wolves and halla and stars and bodies of water. Reflections of cities in the sky and fish, fields of flowers and trees craning to reach the sky.

She extended her hand towards it, and at that moment she could see how big the painting really was, and how small she was in comparison.

It was beautiful.

She couldn’t take her eyes off it, and almost stumbled when she walked forward. Arms flailing, she grabbed a nearby pillar for support.

Ellana winced. Her clumsiness was acting up. Stealing one last look at the fresco on the ceiling, she walked towards the paintings on the walls. Some of them were framed canvases, and some of them were wall frescoes. She wanted to touch them, but then she remembered she wasn’t supposed to do that.

Solas’ paintings had a distinctive flavor to them; it was in his use of color, the bold, repeating imagery that she could see in almost every work of art displayed. There were long murals depicting mythology, and then there were huge canvases that took up entire sections of walls. She saw portraits of people, but none of them clear enough to see their faces – a hint of a smile, a glimpse of a sharp gaze, what looked to be a thin scar marring a cheek. All of the subjects were holding flowers.

All of the flowers were the same ones he’d bought from the shop.

Where was Solas anyway? He wasn’t here yet, that was for sure. But he said he’d find her, so she supposed he would.

Ellana wandered off to another section. This time, the frescoes on the walls were flowers, and this section seemed to be for sculptures.

She stopped.

The sculptures were delicate things, perfect replicas of the flowers she knew so well – the flowers she’d had the chance to give him. They were painted to perfection, so lifelike that she had to keep reminding herself they weren’t. She counted all the flowers in her head; all of them were here, except…

Dozens of ambrosia blossoms hung from the ceiling.

Ellana craned her neck yet again, her mouth falling open in astonishment. She was under the flower section of the ceiling fresco, and that was where the ambrosia flowers were strung up. She couldn’t help herself; she reached upwards and touched one with a gentle fingertip.

_Solas_ , she repeated his name in her mind. _Solas_ , she thought in wonder.

What she saw next, however, was the most incredible of them all.

Tucked away in a corner, safely hidden unless anyone was standing just in the right spot, was another painting. A portrait, but not like the portraits she’d seen just now, all half hidden faces and dark, muted colors. This portrait was immediately recognizable, a girl framed with more ambrosia flowers and snowdrops.

This portrait was her.

She gaped at it, unable to formulate a response. This was her. It was unmistakable – the hair, the vallaslin, the eyes. And yet it wasn’t exactly her. She didn’t look that beautiful.

The echo of footsteps reached her ears, and she turned around in a flash.

There he was.

“Solas,” she said.

His answering smile was endearing. “Hello, Ellana.” He gestured to the painting. “Do you like it?”

She could tell from the careful way he enunciated his words and the taut line of his shoulders that he was nervous. Ellana took a step towards him and held both her hands out, palms up, in front of her. “It’s beautiful. Everything… it’s beautiful.” She looked at the ceiling again, and couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “Solas, this is incredible.”

At first she felt him cover both her palms with her own, his touch tentative, but then he grasped both of her hands firmly, and Ellana met his eyes. Were the tips of his ears red? Was he blushing?

No matter, because Ellana certainly was.

“I wasn’t sure you would come,” he began.

“I’m sorry!” Ellana blurted without thinking. “I… I mean, I got nervous and I didn’t know how to call and then I came here and I didn’t know where to go and and and…” She trailed off, cringing.

Solas chuckled. “You’re here now.” His hands tightened on hers, and he pulled her into an unexpected hug. Ellana relaxed into it, and breathed in the faint, floral scent of his shirt. She felt his fingers in her hair, stroking, gentle.

Ellana pulled away after a while, still blushing. “So, Fen’Harel. When are people going to start pouring in?” she asked.

He smiled, and the gleam of mischief in his eyes was unmistakeable. “Not for another half an hour. I made them delay the opening. I had hoped you would be able to see this first. Alone.” He paused. “If you would allow it, I’d like to display this piece. You are the model; I thought it fair that I ask.”

Ellana gaped at him. She was doing a lot of gaping today. “I-I… I’d be honored, really. You make everything look…” She made a vague gesture to everything around her, the frescoes on the walls and ceiling, the flowers.

“Beautiful,” she finished.

“Beautiful,” Solas echoed. He took hold of her shoulders and guided her to her portrait again. “This is how I see you,” he whispered. “You are so beautiful.”

At that, Ellana turned around to look at him. He was closer to her than she expected.

So she kissed him on the cheek.

But as soon as she’d done it, she shied away. Oh no. What was she even _thinking_? What if he filed for sexual harrass—

And then his lips were on hers.

It took her a moment to recover from the initial shock. Then it hit her. His lips on hers, his hands at her waist. She reached up to cup his cheeks and kissed him back. His tongue teased her lips, and she opened them willingly. Her arms snaked tighter around him, and she sighed against his open mouth. Her body was languid; she was melting against him, his warm, steady hands clasping her back.

He kissed her until she was almost senseless, and when they finally broke apart, a nervous giggle escaped her lips. It wasn’t long before he joined in as well. And then they were laughing together, and he kissed her forehead.

Any previous sort of unease she’d felt was gone. She squeezed his waist, and Solas kept an arm around her shoulders as they walked past his artworks on display. Leaning against his shoulder, she asked, “Is this okay?”

Puzzled, she felt Solas turn to look at her. “What is?”

“ _This_. Us.”

Solas kissed the top of her head. “It is,” he confirmed.

The sound of his voice made her feel all fuzzy inside. She raised her head to look at the ceiling again, and said, “I wonder what was going through your head when you were painting all this.”

He considered. “Memory. The world. The people. Many things.” He shifted so that they were nestled more comfortably against one another. “When I was sculpting the flowers and painting the portraits, I thought of you.”

She blushed, hiding her face in her hands, but then he curled his fingers around her wrists, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “You… You didn’t paint me like how you painted the other portraits,” she pointed out.

Another chuckle. “I painted you how I envisioned you, Ellana.”

She loved the sound of her name on his lips. “Does that mean you envision those people shrouded in darkness?”

“No, not at all. _That_ was simply a matter of artistic expression.”

They set a slow pace throughout the room, and Ellana felt the exact amount of wonder and marvel as she did when she first set eyes on his art. This was incredible. _He_ was incredible. She kept turning to look at him, and her shy glances were always met with impish delight. They didn’t speak; his paintings spoke for him. It was a comfortable silence, one Ellana could get used to.

When they finally stopped, they were near the entrance archway. “The, ah, guests will be entering soon. Would you like to continue elsewhere?”

Ellana looked at him. “But aren’t you the artist? Shouldn’t you be here for your own exhibition?”

A corner of his lips turned upward. His lopsided smile made her heart skip a beat. “I don’t recall there being such a rule.”

Ellana giggled. “Very well, then.” She turned around for one last look.

“However,” Solas continued. “There _is_ a rule that, should the beautiful lady allow it, I _must_ escort her to dinner.”

This time, she full out laughed. Composing herself, she held her head high and linked her arm around his as they walked out. “The lady allows it,” she said, and then she kissed him on the cheek again. “Sweet talker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apple blossoms – preference   
> Aster – symbol of love  
> Bellflower – unwavering affection  
> White carnation – innocence   
> Snowdrops – hope   
> Ambrosia – love is reciprocated
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you all so much for the feedback! I might try expanding this AU a little more, I don't know yet, but the possibility is there! Please let me know what you think, it's lovely to hear from you~

**Author's Note:**

> find me at learielle.tumblr.com! nothing much there yet, but do come and send me prompts and cry with me and other stuff 'u'


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